


A Close Shave

by Always_Bottom_Derek



Series: Sweetness and Scars [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Hair, Crows, Daddy Kink, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Facial Shaving, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Bottom_Derek/pseuds/Always_Bottom_Derek
Summary: Two weeks ago Derek had returned from a long wilderness retreat related to his forestry service sporting a week’s worth of beard. Since then, he’d made no effort to thwart its growth, barely even trimming. And as thick and fast as it grew, if this kept up, pretty soon he’d be looking like some kind of Spartan or a brunet Thor.Not that either of these were bad images. In fact, they were kind of hot actually.But John missed Derek’s tight-clipped stubble, being able to see the sharp angles of his jaw, and the purity of his lips in a beardless kiss. Turning his attention back to his gun, he pondered this as he put his glock 17 back together. Once it was reassembled he pushed up from the table and wandered into the house.Ten minutes later he emerged with a towel and small leather case.





	A Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benn_Xavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benn_Xavier/gifts).



> This is dedicated to Benn_Xavier, my muse for all things sweet.
> 
> This story is to make up for all the abuse I heaped upon Derek this week in my other fics. It is my attempt at balance. Whatever the hell that is.

The cackles from the murder of crows that had taken up residence in the trees surrounding the remodeled Hale house cracked the afternoon’s quiet. John had gotten so used to them in the past weeks most of the time their noise barely registered anymore.

Now though, scattered parts gleaming up at him with their Hoppe’s #9 shine from the surface of the small picnic table, at their cries he looked up from cleaning his gun. Across from him on the deck, Derek was leaned back in a sturdy Adirondack chair, too lost in a book to notice.

John’s eyes swept appreciatively over him.

Fuck but Derek looked good.

He wore a tight, light-gray tank that clung to his muscular torso and a pair of loose, thin, cotton Bermuda shorts in a blue and gray plaid that matched, and set off his summer tan.

From the cuffs of the shorts his long fuzzy legs extended, posed in a way that showed off tight calves. And, secretly a foot guy, John loved seeing Derek’s large feet, bare but for the strap of his flip-flops, the tufts of dark hair on his big toes just below the knuckle oddly stirring.

Eyes traveling back up, he admired how the lighter hairs on Derek’s arms caught the sunlight and the swirled thick patch that peeked out over the low neckline of his shirt.

Unaware he was being so carefully scrutinized, Derek turned a page and then lifted his hand to scratch at his cheek. It was here John’s appreciation of his lover’s wolfy fur faltered.

Two weeks ago Derek had returned from a long wilderness retreat related to his forestry service sporting a week’s worth of beard. Since then, he’d made no effort to thwart its growth, barely even trimming. And as thick and fast as it grew, if this kept up, pretty soon he’d be looking like some kind of Spartan or a brunet Thor.

Not that either of these were bad images. In fact, they were kind of hot actually.

But John missed Derek’s tight-clipped stubble, being able to see the gorgeous angles of his jaw, and feeling the purity of his lips in a beardless kiss.

Turning his attention back to his gun, he pondered this as he put his glock 17 back together. Once it was reassembled he pushed up from the table and wandered into the house.

Ten minutes later he emerged with a towel and small leather case.

His return caught Derek’s attention and managed to rouse him from his book. Derek watched him approach and flashed him a light smile that was, these days, wonderfully no longer a rarity.

“What’s this?” Derek peered up at him, his normally wide eyes squinting into the sunlight. His expression still largely pleased but now slightly puzzled as well.

“You need a trim.” John flicked out the towel and draped it over Derek’s chest, tucking the ends around his neck. “I’m tired of sleeping with a bushman.”

Derek set his book face down on his thigh. He cocked a brow and shot him a lopsided grin.

“I thought you said you liked the way it tickled your balls when I sucked your cock.”

“I did.” John unzipped the case and set it aside after he pulled out a comb and a pair of battery driven clippers. “But I think the time for that sort of ticklin’ is over.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Even as he said it Derek settled his shoulders back into his chair and lifted his chin slightly.

“No. Not really,” John chuckled. Derek snorted and slumped back further.

“Didn’t think so.”

Surprisingly, he seemed completely content to acquiesce until John turned on the clippers. Then he raised a hand. John flicked the clippers off.

“No length guard?” Derek frowned. “Daddy, this boy likes his stubble. Besides, otherwise, everyone’s gonna think you’re a dirty old man and a cradle robber to boot.”

“I am both those things,” John said not a little proudly. “And I also know what I’m doing.” He waved the fine-toothed comb and the trimmer like he was a conductor. “Trust me.”

A year ago this wasn’t something he could have asked. Or, well, he could have asked for it but trust wasn’t something Derek could have given him easily. A lot had happened between them over the months, however. So, although Derek’s arched brows gave silent voice to his skepticism, he lay back in his chair and tipped his chin up again.

John started the trim running the comb through the rough scrub of his beard and lifting it. He used its teeth as a guard as the clippers followed after. He planned to do two passes, the first a general knockdown and then a careful clean up. He made fast work in his initial run and thick dark hair soon littered the towel.

“I used to do this for Claudia’s father, the last few years he lived with us before he passed. He loved his scruff,” John murmured after a while. “Got pretty good at it.”

Derek’s eyes had drifted closed under the drone of the clippers, but hearing this, they opened and he regarded John thoughtfully. “I didn’t know humans did pack grooming too.”

“Pack grooming?”

“Ummhmm.” Derek’s eyelids fluttered shut again. “Taking care of each other like this. It’s another way werewolves bond sometimes. It strengthens familial ties.”

Well, that explained at least in part why he hadn’t fussed more.

The words ‘familial ties’ set something warm and sweet aching in John’s chest. Because that’s what he and Derek had now. They’d become a unit. Pack. Family.

He didn’t have too much time to dwell on this though, as the buzz of the clippers apparently pissed off one of their resident crows. A loud caw overhead was all the warning John got before a black feathered body swooped close by his head.

“Shit!”

Instinctively raising his arms to protect himself, he dropped the comb and lost control of the clippers before they clattered to the deck too. At the impact, the battery casing's cover came off and one of the batteries popped out.

“Damn crows!” John shouted, bending down to retrieve his lost tools. He stuck the battery in and re-affixed the back on the trimmers, then picked up the comb. Turning back to resume his work his eyes widened.

“Shit.” He muttered again, seeing the bare patch of skin right in the middle of Derek’s cheek.

The bird had startled Derek too and he’d intently followed it with his gaze to see where it returned to roost. Turning back to John and seeing his face, realizing what it meant, he grimaced.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad,” John sighed. He retrieved a small hand mirror from the leather case and passed it over.

“Shit,” Derek echoed.

“Sorry, babe. So much for pack grooming.”

“Not necessarily…” Derek looked up at John, his eyes were soft. “You should just keep going.”

“You’re not pissed?”

Broad shoulders shrugged. “Fast as it grows back? Not really.” Derek passed the mirror back and gave John’s hand a quick squeeze as he did. Then his voice dropped low and quiet in the sweet way it did when he got shy.

“Besides, I kind of like you tending to me.”

John could have teased but he knew this was no small admission on Derek’s part, so instead he nodded and gave him a smile that let him know he felt the same.

“Well, then if we’re gonna do this, we should do it right. You stay put, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned he was pleased to find Derek had stayed, waiting, with what could have been deemed an excited gleam in his eyes. He settled back in and watched as John pulled over a chair from the picnic table and laid out the new supplies.

Then John picked up the clippers again and keeping a sharp eye out for the crows, he carefully buzzed Derek’s beard as close as he could. This was followed by draping a handtowel over Derek’s face, pulled from the large bowl of steaming hot water he’d brought out.

As he waited a couple minutes for Derek’s pores to open John ran his fingers through dark bangs. Under the cloth Derek made pleased little growling noises that went straight to his dick. Once he pulled the towel away, while Derek was still blinking with the return of the sun, he lathered him up.

Then he pulled out his cherished straight razor.

“Damn birds better stay the hell away this time.” He announced, making sure his voice carried to any of their avian audience.

As he started shaving, Derek shot him a goofy foam-bearded grin that turned him into a cross between a deranged Santa and the Easter bunny. “This reminds me of the show we watched the other day,” he hummed as the razor softly snicked against his skin.

“Are you calling me a Reek to your Ramsay?” John gruffed, feigning indignance at the Game of Thrones reference.

There was a careful chuckle from Derek as the blade traced the underside of his jaw. His large green eyes followed then as John sloughed the foam off the glinting sliver into the bowl's steaming water.

“No… Though I do think I have you pretty whipped, in a manner of speaking.”

Derek’s smile widened at the disapproving cock of brow he got in return, though John didn’t deny it. Instead he said, "How the hell am I supposed to shave if you, you don't keep your face straight?"

At this, Derek did his best to shift his expression into his usual stoic one but the corners of his mouth refused to uncurl.

“I didn't mean it like that. I just meant it does take a lot of trust." Derek admitted, becoming serious at last.

He slid up in his seat and tipped his head back over the edge of the chair. His new position exaggerated the length of his strong neck and made his Adam’s apple prominent.

"A wolf doesn’t just bare his throat to anyone.” 

John cleared his own throat before he bent down and pressed a kiss to Derek’s forehead. "Thank you," he hummed rough against sun-warmed skin.

After this he went back to shaving and both of them fell silent.

The sun and the breeze, the whisper of scrub pines and even the murmur of the damn crows wrapped comfortably around them.

John wasn’t sure when he’d gone so soft, but each whisk of the razor and every revealed inch of skin felt increasingly intimate as Derek lay still under his steel.

When he finished, he wiped away the last bits of foam. Then he squirted a bit of moisturizer onto his fingers, a product foisted onto him by his metrosexual son, and rubbed this into Derek’s skin.

The smooth-shaved flesh felt like silk under his fingers and he had to admit Derek looked gorgeous like this. Definitely at least ten-years younger and so relaxed.

It was a look John thought he could easily get used to.

Under his hands Derek made soft groans of pleasure until he pulled them away. There was a big sigh and then the blink of sexily hazed green eyes. Lifting a hand to his cheeks, Derek rubbed them.

“Been a long time since this face has been so clean.” He looked at John quizzically. “How do I look.”

“Pretty… Like jailbait,” John chuckled. “With those 'fuck me' eyes of yours.”

Derek dipped his head, the tips of his ears turning a pink that had nothing to do with the sun.

“You really are a dirty old man, Sheriff.”

“I told you so. Never once denied it.”

Derek barked out a short laugh and shook his head as he gathered up the towel and stood. He carried it over to the deck’s railing and shook it out onto the lawn.

“Maybe the crows will want it for their nests.”

 John couldn’t help but laugh at that. “More Hale remodeling, huh?”

Derek's eyes got a little wistful watching the breeze tumble his shorn fur. He tuned from the rail and answered with a shrug. Then he threw the towel on his abandoned chair and stepped up, fingers hooking into the front of John’s jean pockets and pulling him close.

He touched their lips together without kissing, yet, and skipped off John's mouth, nuzzling against him so their bare cheeks brushed.  
  
“Like having your boy smooth, Daddy? The feel of skin on skin.” Derek’s growled whisper was followed by a nipping kiss to John’s earlobe.

“Mmmmm...” Large hands lifted to catch each side of an angular jaw. John rubbed his thumbs over the fresh, spice-smelling skin of Derek’s cheeks. He elaborated on his wordless answer by pulling Derek into him for a proper kiss.

Soft lips brushed and they opened for each other. Accomplished partners now, their tongues traded the lead seamlessly as they danced in each others’ mouths.

Hips meeting, bulged crotches lightly frotted together. Derek’s hands slipped under John’s arms so his strong fingers could find anchor in the broad expanse of his shoulders.

They were lost in each other for several minutes until the air around them erupted in a cacophony of “caws” and the flap of large wings.

Breaking from their embrace to look out into the large lawn that backed into the forest they watched five fat crows land and strut about the grass industriously gathering tufts of shed beard.

“Maybe we should give them some more…” Derek shot John a smirk. “Besides, pack grooming is meant to be reciprocal."

“I'm as clean shaven as you right now," John frowned, "and I just got a haircut three days ago.”

He started when Derek’s hands slipped down, unbuckled his belt, opened his fly, and slipped into the slit of his briefs with a practiced quickness. Close cut fingernails scratched through the thick thatch of his pubes before Derek’s fingers dipped further down to cup the hairy swell of his balls.

“I wasn’t thinking about the hair on your head.” Derek slid his hand out of John’s jeans and pushed them down off his hips to mid thigh. He grabbed his chubbed dick.

“Let’s find a new tickle for you, Daddy. You did say you liked the feel of skin against skin.” Derek’s tongue darted out and flickered wickedly.

Hobbled slightly by his slipped jeans John shuffled after him, leashed by the fingers gently tugging his hardening dick. Moments later, large hands gripped his shoulders as Derek firmly pushed him down into the empty Adirondack.  

As soon as his ass hit the wood Derek picked up the trimmers and clicked them on with a bare-faced grin.

“Trust me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
